


Taste of leather.

by Michaelssw0rd



Series: 30 prompts. [11]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Dom Harold Finch, Dom/sub, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Orgasm Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shoe Kink, Shoe Kissing, Sub John Reese, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: “Mr. Reese,” he had to swallow himself, the knot of tie constricting his airway, and sweating slightly because of the sheer heat, “would you like to kiss my shoes?”John blushed, it was such a beautiful sight, and then looked down, nodding slightly, and speaking in a barely audible whisper. “Yes Sir.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InadvertentlyRomantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InadvertentlyRomantic/gifts).



> Because if she had not told me "please have mercy on my soul and WRITE IT," then I probably wouldn't have.
> 
> Also, if xlostlenore had not listened to me screaming about "wtf am i writing, wtf is this, aaaaaaaaaaa" and patiently calmed me down, and read my story and reassured me of it being alright with much squee, and just being a wonderful person ever... i probably would've quit halfway and/or never posted it. So like... thank you. I have never had someone beta a fic before and you were AMAZING.
> 
> Written for the prompt: Shoes.

Harold was sitting in a high backed chair, his legs wide open, wearing one of his more luxurious of suits and black oxford shoes. He felt like he was burning up, there was a heat spreading through his veins- almost shameful in its intensity- despite the rather chilly weather outside. His tie was properly in place and he felt the need to pull on it, to breathe properly, but suppressed it viciously. John needed this. John had asked for it.

And God help him, Harold was going to make sure he gave him that.

John was kneeling in front of him, his knees digging into the carpet- there would be rug burns, and Harold reminded himself to take care of them before the night was over- gloriously naked. He had his hands clasped behind him, his back straight, his head bowed and his cock jutting out proudly. Harold’s next breath came out shaky as he marveled at the beautiful sight.

“Well then.” He was almost proud of how his voice came out solid and strong, despite how his heart was skipping, “Go ahead.”

John’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting Harold’s. His pupils were blown wide, and yet there was a plea in them mingled with desire. He wanted this- needed this- but didn’t know if it was allowed.

“Finch.” A whisper came out of his mouth, and Harold felt a bolt of heat run up his spine, nearly short-circuiting his brain. It took him a few moments to remember there was something wrong with this. It took effort to turn his expressions from brimming with love and adulation to one of stern disapproval, but he managed.

“John,” he reprimanded, and told himself not to feel bad at the flinch he saw John suppress at the steel in his tone. He softened the blow by moving forward a bit and placing his hand on Reese’s cheek, while he stared into his eyes and asked, “What do you call me when we are doing this?”

Recognition flooded into John’s expressions all at once, and he recoiled, only to come forward again to seek the warmth of Harold’s hand. “Sir. I call you Sir. Sorry. Sorry Sir,” he apologized, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the palm, and Harold let him for a few moments before withdrawing and sitting back in the chair. John looked at him with apology etched on his face.

“It’s okay. Don’t do it again,” Harold reassured, and felt a knot in his own chest unwind when he noticed how his words relaxed something in John’s posture.

He still was just kneeling and looking at Harold with pleading eyes though.

“What are you waiting for?” Harold asked, genuinely curious.

John looked away, and that intrigued Finch even more. “I- I can’t,” he admitted hoarsely.

“Do you want to call it off?” Harold asked, concerned.

“No,” John exclaimed, and then added softly, “no Sir!”

“Alright. What do you need then?”

His sub looked down and swallowed, before speaking to the floor. “Can you.” He paused to lick his lips, “can you… make me?”

Harold’s heart ached at the vulnerability in the spy’s voice, the confusion. He wanted to say yes, he did. But that would be wrong. Most of the scenes between them were Harold’s suggestions, and John always bent over backwards to give him whatever he asked for, give him everything and relished in it. He remembered the very small and unsure voice, and the apologies that accompanied it when John suggested this- asked for this. He wasn’t going to create an illusion and make him forget that. He was allowed to ask, allowed to want… it was more than welcome; it was cherished.

“No,” he answered gently, not wanting to upset the man, but wanting him to understand. “No John, my dear, I can’t- I won’t make you. You asked for this remember? You requested this. You want this. I am giving it to you. You just have to take it. It’s just that easy.”

“Please,” he whimpered, his face showing genuine distress, and Harold placed his palm on John’s cheek again- reassuring himself as much as reassuring his sub.

“Alright.” He stroked his thumb oh the sharp cheekbone, making a compromise, “Alright. I won’t compel you, and I refuse to order you… but I can ask. Would that help? Me asking?” He took the vehement nod as an assent and leaned back again, waiting for John to compose himself and look at him again.

“Mr. Reese.” He had to swallow himself, the knot of tie constricting his airway, and sweating slightly because of the sheer heat, “would you like to kiss my shoes?”

John blushed, it was such a beautiful sight, and then looked down, nodding slightly, and speaking in a barely audible whisper. “Yes Sir.”

“Do it then.” Harold’s voice broke a bit at the words, but he was only human. He was allowed to crack.

John took a deep breath, and then bowed his head, bending down, down until his head was level with Harold’s shoes. He could feel his breath on his ankle, warm and intimate.

And then the beautiful man, full of grace and poise, pressed his lips to the leather of Finch’s oxford and kissed it… reverently.

“Oh God,” Harold exclaimed, knowing he could not feel through the leather, that it was impossible, and yet feeling like his whole skin was on fire… that the warmth of John’s lips had penetrated through the layers and was searing him. John raised his head a bit, and then kissed the shoe again, and again, and Harold nearly felt his brain melt when he noticed the peeking tongue and saw John lick a stripe on the vamp of the shoe.

What had he ever done to deserve this man?

He bent and sank his fingers into the salt and pepper hair, stroking his sub’s scalp soothingly and then tugging slightly. John moved up, his eyes dazed and his lips spit slick. Harold was a man of formidable self-restraint, but he doubted anyone could’ve resisted that parted mouth right at that moment. So he bent his back into an awkward angle and kissed John, fierce and desperate, sucking on his lips and tongue and tasting leather. It was more arousing than he could ever have imagined.

When he parted, his hand still in John’s hair, he noticed that John still had his eyes closed, a small content smile on his lips, and once again he marveled at how fate had given him this wonderful gift, and how much he cherished it.

“The other one then?” he asked with a small pleased smile, and John nodded, his eyes still half lidded, his mind firmly in a different place by now. How quickly John Reese could sink into sub-space, and trust Harold to take care of him was still a matter of awe for him.

Harold let go of the hair, reclining back so that he could watch the breathtaking sight of John first giving tiny licks to the toecap, and then kissing it, licking up the vamp and the laces and then pressing reverent open mouthed kisses against it until the leather was wet. Harold watched, mesmerized, letting John take his time, and ignoring the throbbing erection trapped inside his pants. This wasn’t about him.

Finally, after John was done, he slowly moved back with the fluid grace of a leopard, and sat straight, kneeling, and clasped his hands at his back and looked at Harold for instructions.

It took the coder a few moments to compose himself after watching his sub lick his shoes and sit up, glowing with pride. His heart was hammering, his always organized thoughts a mess because all he could think about was how beautiful John was; how devastatingly striking.

“Good boy,” he praised, and smiled when John preened, pushing out his chest and holding his posture even more gracefully, “so good. I am proud of you,” he continued, because John deserved that, and more.

He noticed how hard Reese’s cock was, jutting out and curving up, almost touching his abdomen. It was bound to be aching, but John had not attempted to touch it.

“Do you want to come?” He asked, because he always asked. Some days, he allowed it, some days he didn’t… but he would always rather hear John say it.

John nodded. That wasn’t good enough.

“Say it,” he ordered, because there was something powerful about hearing the sound of John’s rough lust addled voice, asking to come.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I want to come,” there it was, the tremble in his voice, the barely hidden desperation, “Sir.” he remembered to add the honorific at the end because he was _perfect_.

“Ask me, and I might let you.” Because some days John begged; he begged so exquisitely, and Harold would feel bad about how much he enjoyed it, if he did not know how much his partner enjoyed it too.

“Please. Please Sir, please let me come.” Apparently today was one of the days, “Please.” the quake in the voice, the way John’s eyes were getting glossy, tears forming there and how he was breaking apart was breathtaking. A Dom always knew when their sub wanted something, and when they _needed_ it. John needed this.

And Harold lived to give Reese what he needed.

John had been so good for him, so unbelievably good, more than he deserved. So it was with fierce pride and brimming love that he told him, “Yes. Yes my dear. Come for me.”

John seemed relieved for a moment, relaxing his shoulders, and then appeared confused. Looking at Harold for instructions or reprimand, he brought one of his hands from behind his back and held his length in his fist.

 “That’s it… stroke yourself. Let me see you,” Harold encouraged, and let out a moan of his own when John gave himself a long loose handed stroke, breathing out a ‘ _Sir.'_

Gradually, John’s slow up and down strokes became faster, the twist at the head appearing and coinciding with the hitching in his breath, and his hands were dry! It was going to chafe. “Stop,” Harold commanded, and John immediately snatched his hand away, even though his hips tried to follow it, “thank you, you are being so good for me,” he praised, because even though these words were too small to describe what John was like, but he always smiled at them. “Now, lick your palm and get it wet, before putting it back on your cock.”

John’s dilated pupils blew up even more, and he made a tiny desperate noise as he followed Finch’s order, before going back to jerking himself off.

Something was wrong. It was taking too long… after a scene like this, and with how pent up Reese looked, he should’ve reached the edge a long while back. Harold could see he was struggling, and getting frustrated, his hand rubbing a brutal rhythm of up and down strokes with twists at the head, his head thrown back, and his other hand on the floor supporting him as he leaned back. He was murmuring a string of words, so Finch made himself listen.

It was a broken litany _of Sir, please, please, Sir, Finch, Harold, Harold, Harold,_ and he suddenly, desperately ached to give the man what he wanted… if only he knew,

_Oh._

John’s eyes kept wandering towards his shoes and then to his erection, and back… and really, Harold has been quite oblivious.

Reese’s gaze met his and no words came out of his mouth as his lips formed a word: _Please._

“Yes of course. Of course Mr. Reese. I am sorry. Anything,” he promised fervently, as John slowed down his hand and relaxed his posture.

Slowly, unsure but determined, he raised one of his foot, and moved it until it nudged Reese’s balls. He tapped there, really light, one, two, three times. John moved his hand away and started stuttering a string of _Yes, oh please yes, yes… yes._ Encouraged, he moved his foot so the toe-cap touched the base of John’s erection and then slowly dragged it up its length, and then back.

Reese let out a cry, and bent forward, his head resting on Harold’s thigh as his dick spurted out come all over Harold’s oxfords. His own mouth was completely dry and his breaths were coming out in pants-as if he was the one who had orgasmed. For a second, Finch wondered if he had, and was surprised to realize that no… he was still hard and untouched. It took him a few moments before he noticed John was still breathing heavily against his thigh. He buried his hand in the hair one more time and was startled when he felt dampness against his skin, and a sob wracking John’s frame.

Oh dear God no!

“Mr. Reese… John.” He tried to tug on the hair but the man resisted it, so he brought both of his hands to John’s shoulders and rubbed them comfortingly while saying, “John, come up here, come on, let me see you.”

Still hiding his face, John let himself be drawn up, and be positioned in Finch’s lap. By now they knew how to arrange themselves without putting any pressure on Harold’s bad leg, and soon John was in Harold’s embrace, hiding his face in his Dom’s shoulder, while he rubbed his back and arms and soothed him.

It took a couple of minutes of Harold telling John how beautiful he was, how wonderfully he did, and how proud he was of him, before John calmed down. Harold held his face in both of his hands and placed reverent chaste kisses on John’s trembling lips, tasting salt and telling him how much he loved him, how happy he made him, how absolutely _perfect_ he was.

When John started kissing back, a lump eased in Finch’s chest, and he ran his fingers through his beloved’s hair, letting him undulate in his lap, his knee nudging Harold’s ignored dick and sending ripples of pleasure through him. Then he felt John’s hand working its way towards Harold’s belt and he suddenly realized what John was doing.

He grabbed the wandering hand and shook his head, kissing John’s forehead to gentle him. He whined, mumbling unintelligible words, too far gone to be coherent. Trust Reese to be worried about Harold’s pleasure even in this state. The surge of affection and love he felt for the man blinded him for a few seconds.

“Let’s get you to bed shall we?”

“Want to make you feel good,” he insisted, and Harold had to close his eyes at the emotional havoc those words wreaked.

“You already did Mr. Reese. You always do. You have no idea do you?”

It took a little bit of maneuvering on Finch’s part to move them both from the chair to bed, but he succeeded eventually. He quickly got out of his shoes and clothes down to his vest and boxers, and climbed in with his sub, because he knew John needed him around. In the beginning of their relationship Harold had tried to get them water or a cloth to clean up directly after scene only to find John closed off and panicking when he returned.

Not again.

He will do that soon. Right now he laid down next to John and turned on his side. John instinctively curled towards him, fitting himself neatly against Harold’s back, his breath ruffling the hair at his neck, and his arm around Harold’s waist, as he drifted off to sleep.

In about an hour John would probably wake up, and then Harold would get him some juice, and draw them both a bath… but right now he just enjoyed the glow that always accompanied days like these- accompanied scenes where he managed to be what John needed- and let himself drift off for a bit in his lover’s warm embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> *dies of embarrassment* this is the kinkiest thing I have ever written/dreamt of writing and i am so unsure of how i feel about this. I hope it's a fun read though. :D


End file.
